A Low Blow.

That crisp feeling of morning freshness was slowly beginning to fade. My state of calm was beginning to substitute itself with discomfort. i could feel this rapid sensation slowly washing over my entire body.

I glanced at my pump, which told me that I had point six of a unit of insulin on board. I reached into my grey pencil case, and popped two pink raspberry glucose tablets into my mouth. I thought about the temporary basal rate that I’d had running up until an hour ago to correct an early morning blood sugar of 15mmol, and begrudgingly shoved a third tab into my mouth. 

My legs were feeling unusually stuffy, even if they were concealed under trackpants on a warm November day. Beads of sweat were building underneath my arms, and rapidly extending across my upper body. Within minutes I could feel my shirt sticking to my skin, and my pants against my thighs.

A wave of exhaustion suddenly washed over me. My whole body felt…heavy. Every movement, every step I took was an effort. I was struggling to focus on titles in the box of games I was holding, frantically wanting to check them off on the invoice in front of me. The invoice that would be my ticket out of the room.

How long had it been? Five, possibly ten minutes? Nah, couldn’t be any more than five.

I walked back over to my pencil case, and popped another two glucose tabs into my mouth, desperate for this wave of discomfort to pass. I grabbed the invoice and walked off to the office, ignoring a shrill call for my name that was heading in the opposite direction of me.

I collapsed into the chair, and leant forward onto the desk.

I was limp. I didn’t want to work my way through this, like I so often do. I just wanted to sit there, and wait for the exhaustion and the sweats to pass.

The shrill voice finally found me, and the words I knew I’d have to say escaped my mouth before she even had a chance to ask me for help.

“I just need a minute.”

“I’ll be back out there soon.”

I explained that my blood sugar was low, and that I just wanted to sit there and wait for it to pass. I was offered tic tacs and an orange, which I politely refused, insisting that I had already treated and just needed to wait it out. Said person politely went and grabbed me a glass of water, which was exactly what I needed in that moment.

Five minutes passed.

I got out of my chair and walked down to the kitchen to refill my glass of water. I walked into the mens, washed my hands and tamed my sweat with some anti-perspirant.

I went back to work, wondering if this new acquaintance to my diabetes would feel the need to tread on eggshells around me.

I hope not.

Foggy

I stirred in the darkness. I felt sticky. I could feel the dampness building around my neck and my thighs. I could feel heat emitting from the pillow where my stuffy head had been resting. Leaving the quilt on my bed last night was probably a bad idea.

I felt shaky. I could feel my entire upper body vibrating, as I lay there under the covers. Could I be?

But I didn’t want to open my eyes. I didn’t want move a muscle. I couldn’t gauge exactly why this was, but my brain couldn’t overpower my body that morning as I lay paralysed in bed.

BLEH BLEH BLEH BLEH…

No sooner than I had closed my eyes again, my alarm began to sound. It startled me. I couldn’t believe it was morning. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t registered the time on my clock radio when i stirred only moments ago.

I fumbled hurriedly for my phone, desperate to silence the blaring alarm. I felt disoriented. I felt weak. I switched on my bedside lamp, and reached for my meter.

2.6. My blood sugar was sitting at lowly 2.6.

I frantically got out of bed, pulled my retainers out of my mouth and fumbled around on my dresser for the ancient yellow-rimmed coffee cup where I could dunk them into.

I could still feel those shakes as I walked into the kitchen, like someone had frightened me. I poured milk into my coffee cup, and placed it into the microwave to heat up. Once the 45 seconds were up, I placed it under the coffee machine, watching the sweet brown liquid drip slowly into my cup.

I felt thirsty. I washed that coffee down my throat in big gulps, as a way to quench my thirst. I reached for biscuits. One of Nonna’s amaretti topped with a glace cherry, followed by a choc chunk cookie.

I wondered how long I had been low. I knew I had gone to bed sitting on a 4.9. I had eaten 3 skittles as well, which should have brought my blood sugar closer to 6. I hoped I hadn’t been sitting low for too much of the night.

As the shakes subsided, the brain fog began to set in.

As I went about my morning moving pallets and pushing trolleys, I could feel aches in my very weak arms and legs.

Those aches were a lasting reminder of that hypo.

Those aches left me feeling riddled with guilt.

Some added science from my friend Matt: Apparently your muscles are repairing overnight, and if there isn’t enough sugar for them to slurp on…ouch is incurred.